


Fic with a pin in it

by dc_comic_girl



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:35:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26352745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dc_comic_girl/pseuds/dc_comic_girl
Summary: High School AU of the Hetalia Characters
Kudos: 1





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, so this is an old fic, actually my first ever fic, that I posted on a different site under missyoungjustice, and lately it’s just been bothering me it’s incomplete. I’m moving it here for the time being (because I don’t know how to make it private), but eventually I’ll have to go back and edit all these chapters 😬. I haven’t even looked at this story in over seven years, and only just remembered my login to the other site tonight. God help us all...

"Hey, Dude! What's up, Broha?"

Matthew turned around to see who was calling him, an almost moot act. Only a handful of people would ever speak to _him,_ and only one of those people would ever call him-

"Dude, I need a ride home today," Alfred said, his signature grin never leaving his face.

Matthew sighed. He didn't like to turn down his brother's requests, though waiting around for Alfred's student council meeting to end seemed less than exciting.

Matthew's head followed its signature nod of agreement, though he allowed himself a few "aggressive words".

"It's not much fun waiting around for you, eh?" The younger brother said in his most firm tone, which once released into the world, was no more than a whisper in comparison to his elder.

"I got it covered, bro!" Alfred grinned, squeezing Matthew's shoulders. "Or should I say 'vice president bro'?"

"H-huh?" Matthew asked, trying to escape his brother's grasp.

"You're the new school vice president!" Alfred laughed, turning the head of every student in the hall around them.

Matthew successfully pushed his brother away. "Wang Yao is the vice president," he said, pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose.

"Not anymore!" Alfred beamed proudly. "You're my sidekick so I told him to step down. He wasn't even that upset: said it'd be a nice break from us westerners. Kinda racist, huh?"

"I'm not your side-"

"You don't need to thank me! I did it 'cause, I'm totally worried about you, broski," Alfred said, his trade mark grin momentarily subsiding.

"You just want a ride," Matthew mumbled hesitantly.

Aww, come on, Matty," Alfred groaned sounding slightly desperate at the idea of walking home for the whole semester. "You barely join any clubs-"

"I founded the breakfast club. We serve pancakes every-"

"You only talk to that Cuban guy-"

"His name is Juan and-"

"And you keep a stuffed polar bear in your locker!"

Matthew let his head drop, his blonde bangs falling over his eyes. Sure he was being an obnoxious hoser, but he wasn't _wrong_. The truth was, Matthew _did_ want to make a name for himself. Even his friends confused him with Alfred. God, once _Alfred_ did! Okay, maybe he _did_ look like Alfred . . . and talk like Alfred . . . and have the same interests as Alfred . . . but there were _lots_ of things that made Matthew unique. He just . . . had to find them. So yeah, he needed to get out there more, but he definitely was **not** starting by being Alfred's "sidekick" on student council.

"Al . . . I don't want to-"

"Great see you at 2:30!" Alfred called over his shoulder as he rushed to class.

Well, he was "uniquely" _bad_ at confrontation.

* * *

Matthew sat awkwardly to the right of his brother. He snuck glances at his fellow councillors, the constant fear that these people questioned his presence hanging over him. Did _they_ see him as Alfred's "sidekick"?

"Okay dudes! Welcome to the first student council meeting of the year! This is going to be a righteous year, mostly 'cause I'm gonna be the awesomest president ever, so I don't really need any of you here, but we gotta roll call anyway," Alfred shouted, standing at the head of the table, speaking in, what Matthew could only imagine, was his most "heroic" voice. "So take it away Artie!"

"Would you please stop shouting?" Arthur asked, massaging the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger and cringing. Judging by the notebook and pen in front of him, Matthew assumed that Arthur was the council's secretary, meaning he had to record everything that Alfred said for the next hour and a half. Lucky him.

Arthur stood up, holding up the note pad in front of him. "Francis?" He asked begrudgingly.

"Oui, mon amie. Zee Social convener iz present. We may begin," Francis said checking his nails. Matthew grinned inwardly. He could understand Francis and Alfred couldn't. He turned ever so slightly to check if Alfred was puzzling over what Francis had said, only to find him texting under the table. Matthew sighed. Who cared if he could understand French? No one cared what Francis had to say anyway. . .

"No, we can't start yet you wanker!" Arthur yelled frustrated. Everyone knew that he had a short fuse when it came to Francis, and it looked like it was just lit. "You're the first one on the list. We have the whole rest of the attendance to get through!"

"I am present," Ivan chimed in happily, leaning back in his chair.

Everyone turned to look at him.

Arthur looked down at his list of names and positions. ". . . Why?" He asked confused.

"I am dee Russian Representative, da?" Ivan assured, still smiling.

"That's not a position," Arthur said slowly, clearly getting frustrated again.

"Don't be silly. Every club needs a Russian Representative," Ivan laughed, though his eyes grew more serious.

The members of the council were silent for a moment, not sure how to react.

Finally Arthur cleared his voice, "Yes, well . . . what about our treasurer? Kiku?"

"Hai," the Japanese boy said quietly and Matthew smiled. If there was anyone in the room who might be as shy as Matthew himself, it was Kiku.

"Social Commissioner?"

"Yes," Ludwig answered stiffly, from the opposite head of the table. He nudged the sleeping Italian boy to his left.

"Pasta!" The boy shouted, waking with a start. The council gave him a confused look as he lowered his head and went back to sleep.

"Feliciano is my assistant, and he is also here," Ludwig clarified calmly, though pink tinted his cheeks after his friend's outburst.

"Alright," Arthur said, checking off the two names. "And finally, vice-president?"

"Umm . . . here," Matthew mumbled shyly.

"Where is Yao?" Ivan suddenly asked. His smile was the same as before, but his eyes danced dangerously at the sudden realization that his friend was missing.

Matthew opened his mouth to answer, but nothing came out.

"Oh, that dude quit," Alfred replied in his brother's defense, finally looking up from his phone.

Ivan's eyes turned slowly from Matthew to Alfred. "Why?" he asked coolly.

"Pfft, I don't know," Alfred laughed, though clearly a bit uncomfortable. "I had wicked important presidential stuff to worry about, so I didn't ask."

"I have a matter to discuss that is actually relevant to this meeting," Ludwig announced curtly, cutting off any future questions Ivan had for Alfred. Matthew breathed a sigh of relief at the distraction.

"Kiku tells me we need to raise money for the homecoming dance, so I want to brainstorm ideas for a fundraiser," the German boy announced before straightening his shirt and sitting back down.

"Zat's easy," Francis laughed. "A kissing booth."

"No one wants to kiss you, you cheese-smelling twit," Arthur groaned, losing his patience once more.

"You know you want to, mon amour," Francis laughed, puckering his lips and leaning towards Arthur, who quickly leaned so far back in his seat that it toppled over, making Alfred join in the laughter.

Arthur stood back up, and, blushing deeply, replaced his chair to its original position before sitting in it, attempting to divert any more attention to the fall (which was hard with Francis and Alfred howling on either side of him). "What about a bake sale?" He asked, his voice quivering with embarrassment.

"No offense, bro, but your scones taste like ass," Alfred choked out between laughs. "I think I'd rather kiss Francis."

"I have idea," Ivan spoke up, silencing the room.

Once everyone's eyes were on him, he smiled, ear to ear.

"Hockey game."

Everyone exchanged looks of dread, not wanting to disagree with him. Everyone, except Matthew.

Matthew instead looked up with a grin rivaling Ivan's.

"I think that's a great idea," the shy boy said in a loud, confident voice.


	2. Chapter 2

"What's that, Alfred?" Elizabeta asked the tall blonde haired boy as he hung a poster in the cafeteria.

"O-oh, h-hi, Elizabeta," Matthew stuttered turning around.

"Oh! Matthew! I'm sorry!" Eliza apologized emphatically. Everyone knew how shy Matthew was, and it probably didn't help his confidence to be confused with his older brother. "You look like Alfred from beh-"

"Y-yeah, I know," Matthew mumbled comfortingly, clearly trying to ease her guilt. "It's a poster. For a hockey tournament."

The boy side stepped allowing Eliza to lean forward and read. According to the crudely drawn advertisement, the student council was holding a school-wide hockey tournament to help pay for the school dance.

"That's a great idea!" Elizabeta grinned. "Count me in."

"Oh, you want to come?" Matthew asked, his grin mirroring her own.

"Yeah, and I want to play," Eliza announced, her grin spreading even wider. This was just what she needed. She couldn't remember the last time she did something sporty or dangerous. All Roderich ever wanted to do was play piano and read. Oh, and correct Eliza's "unladylike" behaviour. He would never approve of her playing in a hockey tournament. Maybe this would be the silver lining to the break up. . .

"Y-you can't," Matthew exclaimed sheepishly, breaking her train of thought.

"Huh? Why?" Eliza asked confused, refocusing her eyes on the boy. He wasn't the type to tell anyone what they could or couldn't do. That was more his brother's song and dance.

Matthew's eyes darted around nervously, clearly looking for some distraction from the confrontation. "Well . . . the council kinda thought . . . that maybe . . . girls should . . . sit this one out," he finally muttered, letting his eyes fall on his feet.

Eliza's infamous anger flared up and she fought the urge to scream at the shy boy. Her hand twitched for something to hit him with, but she restrained herself. She knew out of all the council members, Matthew would be the least likely to make any controversial rules. Still, the hunger to shoot the messenger was almost overpowering.

"Why not?" She asked slowly, through gritted teeth to avoid losing her composure.

"W-well . . . it wouldn't be fair." Matthew said, putting on his trademark diplomatic voice. "Guys can't play as hard because they'd be worried about hurting the girls, and girls would have to be worried about getting hurt."

"Plus girls can't play hockey," a loud, familiar voice said from behind her.

Eliza spun around, coming face to face with Gilbert. She stared at the albino with undiluted loathing. Finally, someone to take her anger out on.

Matthew saw the distraction as an opportunity and grasped it with both hands. "Don't worry, Elizabeta. There will be lots more events all year that you can participate in," He assured, awkwardly patting her arm before hurrying off.

"What do you mean 'girls can't play hockey'?" The Hungarian girl asked, fuming.

"Girls can't play hockey, just like they can't play any sports. You're just not awesome enough," he replied in a comforting tone, dripping with sarcasm.

"Gilbert, I used to kick your ass at any sport when we were kids," Eliza reminded him.

"Yeah, but that was before you discovered dresses," Gilbert laughed. "Besides, why do you even want to play? Won't you be busy having tea or some shit with the aristocrat?"

Eliza's eye twitched. Why was he so full of himself? Why did he say the things he knew would piss her off? And why, why did he have to bring up Roderich?

"Roderich and I are no longer together," she said cooly, making sure her emerald green eyes locked with his ruby red ones.

Gilbert paused. His smile fell and his eyes widened. "Y-you aren't?" he asked slowly. There was something in his voice, something that irked Eliza: hope.

She couldn't believe it. He hoped they broke up. He hoped that the relationship she had worked on for years was over. He hoped she was miserable and crying herself to sleep every night. That was it. That was the last straw. She would play in that hockey game and she would kick Gilbert's sorry ass.

"No, we aren't, not that it's any of your business," she sniffed, haughtily. "So I will be playing in that hockey game, and you will be defeated Gilbert Weillschmidt."

She walked back to her table, leaving him standing slack-jawed by the poster. Once she reached her friends, however, the overwhelming confidence she had displayed in Gilbert's presence disappeared almost completely.

Lili and Katyusha were talking about who might ask them to the homecoming dance and what they would wear.

"Who do you think will ask you, Eliza?" Lili asked, breaking Elizabeta's train of thought for the second time today.

"Hm?" Eliza asked, disinterested. "Oh, I don't know."

The girls continued chattering on until Eliza cleared her throat.

"Do either of you know how to play hockey?" She asked looking at her friends.

The two girls exchanged a confused glance.

"No. . ." Lili said, slightly puzzled by Eliza's sudden interest in a game she had never talked about before. Eliza's face fell a little. Could Gilbert really be right?

"I don't, but Natalia does," Katyusha offered, cutting a pierogi before eating it. "She used to watch Ivan play when we were younger."

"Kat, that's terrific!" Eliza exclaimed, perking up considerably. "Do you think she'd teach us?"

Katyusha thought for a minute. "I'm not sure," she replied thoughtfully. "I could ask her."

Eliza clapped. This was perfect! If Natalia played anything like Ivan and agreed to play with her, they might actually have a chance in the tournament. This was awesome. Much more awesome than Gilbert.


	3. Chapter 3

Ludwig and Kiku sat in comfortable silence eating their lunch. Kiku was almost always silent, one of Ludwig's favourite of the Japanese boy's traits. Ludwig would have liked to believe that the reason for his silence was that he too was calm and collected most of the time, but the truth was that there was a lot on his mind.

Saying he was disappointed with the choice of fundraiser was an understatement. Being the Social Commissioner, it was expected of him to be as involved in the events he was organizing as possible, and not signing up to play in the hockey tournament would make him appear intimidated, which unfortunately, was _exactly_ what he was. Truth be told, Ludwig was quite fond of the sport. He wasn't bad, either, better than most of the students in the school, but he wasn't better than Ivan or Alfred, two of the people in the school he would least like to lose to (though preferably, he'd like to lose to no one at all). The nagging worry about the upcoming tournament was torturing his mind and depriving him of sleep. How he wished for Feliciano's easy going attitude, at least with regards to this _stupid_ game.

This last thought sent his mind on a tangent, worrying about the second burden of his uneasy mind: the homecoming dance. Since the semester started Feliciano had been babbling on about this foolish dance and what fun it was going to be. To be honest, the whole dance concept seemed foolish to Ludwig. Spending money to dress up and stand around uncomfortably seemed a waste of time and before the semester began Ludwig had decided he wanted no part of it. And then he saw how excited Feliciano was. . .

Fine, he wanted to ask him to the dance, but he just couldn't. Every time an opportunity arose, he reminded himself how weak it was to show affection . . . and how embarrassing rejection would be. To be rejected would be to lose something much greater than a hockey game.

"Have you asked Feliciano to the dance yet?" Kiku suddenly asked, interrupting the silence.

Ludwig looked up in utter shock. His blue eyes grew to the size of saucers and his jaw fell open. "Uh-of course not," Ludwig replied hastily. "Why would you ask that? I have no interest in taking Feliciano to the dance."

Kiku looked at him for a long minute. He appeared to be thinking very hard about something. Did he know how Ludwig felt? How could he? Ludwig had contained his feeling incredibly well.

"My mistake," Kiku finally replied, dropping his gaze.

Ludwig breathed a silent sigh of relief. What compelled his friend to ask such a thing? Kiku: the boy who rarely talked about his own feelings, let alone others'. Ludwig opened his mouth to ask why Kiku would ask such a question, but the Japanese boy spoke first.

"I have to go," Kiku said, dabbing his mouth with a napkin and standing up. "Alfred has asked me to help him devise a plan to avoid Ivan."

"Because of the hockey tournament?" Ludwig asked perplexed. It wasn't like Alfred to be afraid of competition.

Kiku looked like he was mulling over his words carefully. "For more . . . personal reasons," he finally answered.

Kiku packed up the remainder of his lunch and left, leaving Ludwig in silence with his troubling thoughts once more.

"Ludwig!" Someone yelled from behind him. He turned around to see Feliciano barrelling towards him, a speed he usually reserved for being first in line for food or avoiding a pummelling in dodge ball. The dark haired boy threw himself down in the seat across from Ludwig, panting and sweaty.

"Look!" He said excitedly, out of breath. Feliciano held up a poster advertising the homecoming dance.

"Yes. Very good," Ludwig replied, quickly avoiding the topic. "Feliciano, we need a plan of attack for the upcoming hockey tournament."

"Tickets go on sale tomorrow," Feliciano grinned, reading the poster and completely ignoring Ludwig. _Why_ was he so transfixed with this dance?

"Feliciano, _you_ made that poster." Ludwig said slowly through clenched teeth.

"I know! Isn't it exciting!?" The Italian boy asked, looking up with eyes full of excitement and joy. Looking at him made Ludwig's heart leap in a way he found less than pleasant. "I hope I get a ticket. . ." Feliciano added dreamily.

"We are selling the tickets!" Ludwig yelled, finally losing his patience with his best friend. "Who cares about a stupid dance!? There are real things to worry about, but once again, I have to do all the planning alone."

Feliciano's smile had disappeared, his excitement gone. Ludwig wanted to jump up, run over and hug him. To let him be excited and happy and . . . Feliciano. Instead, he sat there uncomfortably looking at his lap, ashamed.

"Are you mad at me, Ludwig?" Feliciano asked softly, tears threatening in his voice.

Ludwig sighed, still unable to make eye contact.

"Just put the poster back up," he said gruffly before picking up his bag and leaving.

* * *

When Ludwig got home, Gilbert was already in the kitchen, feeding his bird. Dear Lord, that _bird_. Not only did his brother have more compassion and love for that stupid chicken than for Ludwig himself, but its usefulness remained a mystery to the younger of the two. As far as Ludwig could tell all he was good for was chirping and shitting all over the house.

Ludwig went to the fridge and pulled out some left over wurst for himself, only to find peck marks in it.

"Damn it, Gilbert," Ludwig yelled, already on edge.

Gilbert's head snapped up. "What's up your ass?" the Albino asked with a hard glare.

"Why is the damn bird even eating our food?" Ludwig asked, throwing the ruined food in the trash.

"Because _Gildbird_ was hungry and no one was eating it," Gilbert scowled and walked over to the fridge. He pulled out two beers and handed one to his younger brother. "Have you talked to Roderich lately?"

"Not excessively," Ludwig grunted, still tense.

Gilbert nodded thoughtfully, then refocused his eyes on Ludwig. "So what's wrong?"

Ludwig sighed. His brother wasn't the most sympathetic person in the world, but he knew Ludwig better than anyone else, so if he was going to talk to anyone about his feelings, it should probably be Gilbert.

"Have you heard about the hockey tournament?" He asked, staring hard at his beer.

"Yeah. Elizabeta wanted to play," Gilbert nodded, taking a swig from his bottle.

"Girls shouldn't play hockey," Ludwig said, shaking his head.

"That's what I said," Gilbert agreed smiling.

The brothers sat in silence for a few minutes. It wasn't the comfortable kind of silence that Ludwig had felt with Kiku earlier and he silently willed his brother to speak. When Gilbert, most ironically, did not chime in with any more offensive, derogatory, racist, sexist, or rude comments, Ludwig finally took the initiative.

"I'm playing."

Gilbert almost blew beer out of his nose laughing. He took a moment to regain himself before he replied. "You're not even good at hockey!" He laughed condescendingly.

"I'm better than you," Ludwig muttered, his anger flaring up again.

"In what universe are you better at anything than me?" Gilbert smiled contemptuously.

Ludwig rolled his eyes, ignoring the comment and pressing forward with his real worries.

"Ivan's playing."

Gilbert paused, his beer pressed against his lips. His blood red eyes widened and then narrowed. He lowered his beer and looked at his baby brother with seriousness Ludwig had never seen him wear before.

"Kick his ass," he said meaningfully.

"Have you seen him play? I can't just-"

"Of course you can," Gilbert said, setting his beer down and grasping his brother's shoulders. "You're _my_ brother. That means you have _my_ awesome blood. And you _can_ beat Ivan."

Ludwig felt a twinge of emotion in his chest. It was the first time in his memory Gilbert had shown anything close to pride towards him. Then again, Gilbert really hated Ivan. . .

"So is that why you flipped out?" Gilbert asked, picking up his beer and having another gulp.

Ludwig began to nod then paused. If he was going to let his guard down with Gilbert, he may as well just lay all his cards out on the table.

"What do you think about the homecoming dance?"

"Stupid," Gilbert replied without even thinking.

Ludwig nodded, lowering his eyes to his drink. He knew it. His friends, his brother, they would think him weak if he showed Feliciano his true feelings and asked him to the dance.

"But your Italian friend doesn't think it's stupid," Gilbert said slowly, his serious face returning again.

Ludwig's head shot up. "So?" He asked calmly, though fighting a blush.

Gilbert sighed, exasperated. "Listen West, I have about ten seconds more of sincerity so pay attention. You should ask the Italian to homecoming or you will regret it."

Ludwig lost the battle against the blush. "I don't want to-"

"Yeah, yeah," Gilbert responded, waving away the comment with his beer free hand. "All I'm saying is, don't let the moment pass by if you _do_. Seeing someone you care about with someone else is worse than the moment of embarrassment when you ask them out." Gilbert got a far off look, as if he was deep in thought.

Ludwig felt uncomfortable. He hadn't talked like this with his older brother since he was young. He didn't like the feeling of turning to Gilbert for advice, or of being vulnerable to one of Gilbert's typical slurs at any moment.

"Based on what?" Ludwig asked, expecting a scowl. Instead Gilbert was silent for a moment longer before looking back at his brother.

"What do you think of Eliza?" He finally asked.

Ludwig paused, thinking. He had always liked Eliza. She was smart and fun. She wasn't afraid to do things that other girls were and he respected her for that. She had always treated him like he was old enough to hang out with her and Gilbert when she was around. But more than the games she played, more than the treats she brought, more than _anything_ , Ludwig liked how Gilbert was around her. He liked how she made Gilbert smile. Not the sarcastic, sadistic smile he wore the majority of the time, but a happy smile, one that only ever came out when Eliza was around.

Ludwig contemplated expressing his train of thought to Gilbert, but decided he had extended his limit on emotions enough for one day. "I like her enough," he shrugged.

Gilbert nodded, sipping his beer thoughtfully.

Suddenly Ludwig's thoughts shifted from his own problems onto his brother. "Wait," he said, narrowing his eyes. "Are you thinking of asking Eliza-"

Gilbert stood.

"Ask the pasta eater." He ordered, before leaving the room, beer in his hand and Gilbird on his shoulder.

Ludwig opened and closed his phone multiple times, thinking. What was the worst that could happen? He had done much braver things than make a phone call. And it was Feliciano! Why was he so terrified of his cowardly, nonthreatening friend? He wasn't. He had no reason to be. He'd just pick up the phone and-

His phone suddenly started ringing, giving him a start. He stared at it, shaken out of his thoughts. He flipped it open to answer, only to be greeted by a panicked voice.

"Ludwig! Ludwig! I need your help!" Feliciano said in his dramatic, terrified voice.

Ludwig rolled his eyes, but smiled. He was _glad_ Feliciano had forgiven him. He was glad Feliciano _needed_ him.

"What is it now?" He asked with a forced groan.

"I need your help deciding what to wear to the dance!"

Ludwig's heart skipped a beat. "Th-the dance?" He asked slowly.

"Yes! The homecoming dance. You're going right? Oh, please tell me you're going! I know you were upset earlier, but you have to go!"

Ludwig smiled. It was now or never. "Yes, I'm going. Did you want to-"

"Oh, thank God! Cause I don't know what I'm going to say to Bella all night! She asked me today and- . . . Ludwig? . . . Ludwig?"


	4. Chapter 4

"Hey! Loser!" Gilbert shouted, running to catch up with Roderich in the courtyard before class. He sneered, catching sight of the Austrian rolling his eyes. "What's this I heard about you dumping Eliza?"

The aristocrat sniffed, acting _so_ much better than Gilbert. What a _bastard_. "I didn't _dump_ Elizabeta. We agreed to take a break."

Gilbert scowled. What did Eliza see in this guy? Why was he worth giving up all the times they had spent playing in the woods? What made him so much better than . . . ya know, any other guy.

To be fair, Gilbert was a biased judge, seeing as the aristocrat bugged the ever living shit out of him. Every trait the boy possessed irked the German. It was so strange he had never realized these traits until Roderich had started dating Eliza. . .

"Well, according to her, it's a super long break. She said you're over," Gilbert pushed, trying to get a reaction.

Roderich's eye twitched only slightly as he continued walking down the path towards school from his street, all the time avoiding eye contact with Gilbert. "Why are you so interested in our affairs?" He asked condescendingly.

The question took Gilbert by surprise. He paused for a second, momentarily falling out of step with his rival. He _wasn't_ interested . . . was he . . .? No! Of course not.

"I just was looking for something new to rub in her face," Gilbert shrugged smugly, re-examining his pace to match Roderich's stride.

"Likely," Roderich snorted. Gilbert glowered. He wasn't hugely fond of the way Roderich spoke to him like he knew something about Gilbert that he wasn't supposed to. Roderich didn't know anything about him, or Eliza for that matter.

He had always done that mushy shit that girls fall head over heels for: proclaiming his love for Eliza in front of her friends, playing the piano for her for hours, but he didn't _know_ her. Not like Gilbert did.

Gilbert shook the thoughts from his head. So what? He didn't care if this douche could make Eliza happy, though he'd prefer it if she was miserable. And Gilbert clearly didn't know Eliza _that_ well seeing as she chose this prick over . . . any other guy in school.

"So you're not going to ask her to the dance?" Gilbert asked, running a hand through his platinum hair.

Roderich stopped dead in his tracks. His body language was that of an alarmed man, but when he turned to face Gilbert, he was perfectly calm. "Why?" He asked unconcernedly.

Gilbert, however, was not calm. His mouth fell open and his face went blank, while his mind raced wildly. _Whywhywhywhywhy_ , repeated in his mind. Why did he ask if Roderich was taking Eliza? He didn't care! He didn't even mean to ask that. Why would he care? He wasn't even going and even if he was, it wasn't like. . .

Roderich narrowed his eyes at Gilbert, clearly waiting for an answer. Now that Gilbert had finally gotten the aristocrat's attention, he racked his brain for something to say to lose it once more.

Roderich's look of concern slowly subsided, replaced by a grin that made Gilbert's stomach churn. "Oh, I see," he smiled with derision. "You planned to ask her."

"I did not!" Gilbert replied quickly, his voice rising slightly. How had this happened? The plan was to make the Austrian ass squirm, yet here Gilbert was, fumbling over words and sweating though his shirt. He bit the inside of his cheek and thought quickly. This was _Roderich_. Why on earth would _Roderich_ have any power over _Gilbert_?

Gilbert took one deep breath and regained his composure. "I told you Roddy, I just want to know what heart strings to pull to make Eliza cry," he finally replied, his trade mark merciless smile plastered on his face.

He leaned forward. "Besides, any girl who dated you must have something wrong up here," he whispered, poking Roderich in the middle of his forehead.

The action made Roderich's glasses fall down his nose slightly. The dark haired boy replaced them and smiled kindly. "Good," he whispered brightly. "Because there is no way someone as kind and beautiful as Eliza could _ever_ care about someone like you."

The quiet boy's harsh words seemed to steal the breath from Gilbert's lungs, leaving him silently gasping for air as his companion turned to leave.

Before Roderich entered the stairwell he turned back once more to see the German boy standing uncomfortably in the hall, his face paler than usual.

"Perhaps I will ask Eliza to the dance," Roderich called back thoughtfully. His violet eyes narrowed onto Gilbert, almost threateningly. "If only to save her from turning down some delusional fool."


	5. Chapter 5

Elizabeta stood at the head of the long table and cleared her throat.

"Okay, uh, welcome ladies," she said in the most confident voice she could muster, hiding her shaking hands under the table top. 8 heads turned leaving 16 eyes staring at her for direction. What the hell was she doing? This seemed like a much better idea in her head. . .

"You're all here because you want to play in the hockey tournament-"

"What?!" Mei asked wide-eyed, her voice little more than a squeak. "'Play'?"

Eliza blinked confused, turning her eyes towards the Taiwanese girl. "I- . . . yes. The poster said 'looking for girls who are interested in the upcoming hockey tournament."

"No it didn't, mate," Kaelin said in her thick Australian accent, pulling Eliza's attention. "The poster said 'looking for girls who are interested in _participating_ in the upcoming hockey tournament." The girl pulled a crumpled up flier out of her backpack and held it up for the group to see. Sure enough, there was the word "participating" was written in large pink print.

Bella nodded, packing up her bag. "I thought you meant making posters, or selling food or-"

"Cheerleading," Michelle finished, giggling.

Most of the girls at the table began to pack their things, standing up from the conference table.

"Wait!" Eliza called desperately. "Don't any of you want to actually _play_?"

"Why would we want to lose to a bunch of boys?" Lien asked, slipping her headphones over her ears.

"Cause maybe we wouldn't lose!" Eliza yelled. Her sudden control of the room shocked the girls out of packing and left them standing, staring at her uncomfortably.

Eliza blushed a deep red. "Don't you see? This is exactly what the boys are expecting. They think we'll fold under pressure and be too scared to play against them. What if . . . what if we beat them?"

The girls all looked at each other, silently, no one quite sure what to say or how to react. Eliza held her breath. This was not going at all how she had anticipated. Had she really expected this group of girls to want to play hockey? Doing stuff like playing in hockey tournaments was exactly why the girls at school thought she was weird. _Damn it_. She didn't fit with the boys; she didn't fit with the girls – where the hell did she belong?

Eliza sighed and began packing her bag. It was a dumb plan anyway. She didn't even know how to _skate_.

"Maybe . . . maybe we could beat them," Mei said suddenly.

Eliza's head shot up. "Seriously?" she asked with a huge smile on her face.

Mei shrugged sheepishly, setting her bag down again.

"Yeah, and it's not like we couldn't wear cute uniforms," Michelle grinned, twirling her pigtail around her finger.

The girls reclaimed their seat around the table and Eliza had to fight the urge to cheer. She did it! She actually convinced a bunch of girls to-

"Are you all imbeciles?" a cool voice asked from the opposite head of the table. Again, 8 heads turned to look.

Natalia sat in her chair with perfect posture, her dress wrinkle free and not a hair out of place. Her icy indigo eyes shooting daggers at Mei. "Are you truly dense enough to believe that you could _ever_ beat a _man_ in any sport?"

Mei sat up in her chair, not backing down. "Girls can do anything boys can do, Natalia," she replied stubbornly.

A hint of a smile touched the corner of Natalia's mouth. "So: very. Very dense."

"Leave her alone, Nat," Eliza chimed in angrily, the control of the meeting slipping out of her reach.

Natalia's eyes instantly slid towards Eliza. "This is your plan, Elizabeta?" she asked, gesturing around her. "A female hockey team composed of scared girls unable to tell their right skate from their left? You may as well be leading them to the slaughter," she finished, letting her eyes fall on Lili, making her squeal in fear. Natalia smirked.

Eliza stood up; slamming her, now steady, hands down on the table. "Natalia, I'm not afraid of a bunch of boys . . . or you," Eliza replied pointedly, leaning across the table.

Natalia's smirk remained glued to her lips. Her composure was unwavering as she lay her slender arms on the table. "Eliza, would you be able to define a hat-trick for me?" she asked in a condescending tone.

The seven remaining heads snapped towards Eliza, awaiting her reaction. Her lip twitched slightly.

"No?" Natalia asked, feigning surprise. "What about a neutral zone trap?"

"No," Eliza answered, through gritted teeth. Her hand itched to swat at Natalia.

"What a pity," Natalia sighed, her smirk growing. "Then it is safe to assume you couldn't define a toe drag either?"

Eliza let her head fall. _God_ , Natalia was a bitch.

"Well, there you have it ladies: your fearless leader," Natalia laughed cruelly, picking up her backpack.

"Then why don't you lead the team, Nat?" Kat asked in her soft curious voice.

Natalia whipped her head around to glare at her older sister. "Why on earth would I even consider helping this group of dim-wits with their ridiculously unattainable goal, Katyusha?"

"Because Ivan always said you made him proud when you played," Kat suggested with a shrug.

There was a moment of silence in the room as Natalia glared at her sister, clearly thinking.

"He won't be proud if I lose in front of everyone," she finally decided, much more calm.

"Then we won't lose," Eliza assured confidently.

Natalia's eyes darted towards Eliza filled with loathing. But was Eliza just imagining it, or was there a touch of respect in them too. "Fine," she said coldly, turning towards the door. "The ice rink. Tomorrow after school."

As Natalia turned the door knob to leave the room, she whipped her head around to glare at Elizabeta once more. "And don't be late."


	6. Chapter 6

This could possibly be the worst day ever, Natalia thought as she walked briskly down the stairs.

"I don't understa-" Toris began desperately.

"No," Natalia repeated for, what felt like, the hundredth time.

"But I haven't even asked you yet," Toris smiled shyly.

How was this _happening_? First that bitch Elizabeta tricked her into playing a sport clearly intended for men, and now she was being asked to the dance by Toris?! She groaned inwardly, though, based on Toris' reaction, it wasn't _all_ inwardly. Good.

"I don't plan on letting you get that far," she said curtly. "Where is Ivan?"

"Uh, I don't know. But it would be a lot of fun and-"

"Sorry, dude. She's going with me," a voice ringing with laughter and confidence chimed from the bottom of the stairs.

Natalia looked down to see Alfred standing there. Yes. "The worst day ever" was an accurate description.

Toris' face fell with disappointment, though his bashfulness prevented him from arguing with the extrovert. He gave a longing look at Natalia before slinking back up the stairs.

Natalia continued walking past Alfred, without so much as an acknowledgement of his existence. If there was anything more embarrassing than facing her brother in hockey or being asked to the homecoming dance by Toris, it was being seen with this . . . this . . . _American_.

"You're _welcome_ ," Alfred said pointedly, with a grin spread across his face. He easily kept her pace, with his hands in his pockets. The easy going, nonchalant approach he took to their conversations was nothing less than infuriating.

She spun around, her long white-blonde hair whipping him in the face as she did so. "I do not need your help when dealing with Toris. I do not need your help with _anything_."

"Aww come on, Talia, everyone needs a hero," Alfred smiled dashingly. Natalia scowled back. He was pompous and rude – referring to himself as a hero, calling her "Talia" – who exactly did this boy think he was?

"Why did you say I was going to the dance with you?" She asked accusingly, her eyelids lowering to form two violet slits.

"Well, it was kinda a prediction preceding me actually asking you," Alfred grinned, rubbing the back of his neck. Natalia sensed a nearly negligible crack in the American's overpowering confidence. Was it possible he was . . . nervous? She tilted her head, her scowl replaced temporarily with a perplexed look.

The two stared at each other for a long minute, before Natalia caught a hold of her mind. What was she _doing_? Why did _she_ care if the American was nervous? He _should_ be nervous. He just asked Ivan's younger sister the homecoming dance.

She replaced her knitted eyebrows with a sneer. "Not that I'd ever consider going with you, but I can't. Ivan will be taking me," she said matter-of-factly.

"Uh newsflash, Talia, he's your brother. And your obsession with him is way creepy," Alfred said seriously. It was the first time she had ever seen him without his ridiculous, cocky smile. "Besides, I'm pretty sure he's going with Yao."

Natalia looked away sharply. Her lip quivered. She had suspected Ivan would go with Yao, though to hear the confirmation out loud gave her stomach an unpleasant dropping feeling – or was it what Alfred had said about her being creepy. . .

True, she did spend most of her time around Ivan, but that didn't make her _creepy_. He was her brother, her closest friend. He had protected her when she was young and no one else, even Kat, could . . . or would. . .

Natalia looked back up. The American looked physically pained with hints of remorse. Apparently insulting the object of his desire was not how he intended to broach this subject. Pity.

"I'd rather go alone," she spat hatefully, before turning on her heel and walking away.


	7. Chapter 7

Sweat poured down Matthew's face as he unlaced his skates. He leaned back on the bench and took a moment to look out at the empty rink. Practicing was, decidedly, his favourite time of the day. Even if he was practicing alone…

Matthew had always loved hockey. He loved the feel of soaring across the ice, the cool air whipping his cheeks. As far back as he could remember, it was the only thing he'd been good at. Well, at least the only thing he'd been better than Alfred at.

When they were kids, the brothers would play all the time. They would have friendly games of hockey against each other in the afternoon, and play street ball against their friends in the evening. Well...Alfred's friends.

As they got older, Alfred had stopped wanting to play hockey. He wanted to play baseball and football – sports _he_ liked. It had never occurred to Matthew how much he needed his older brother until he wasn't there to skate with him in the morning and get his friends to play goalie at night. Without Alfred, Matthew didn't have any friends. Just an empty rink.

"You skate good," a deep voice cut through his train of thought.

Matthew looked up with a start. Who would be at the rink after school on a Friday? And more importantly, who would notice him when he was sitting so quietly?

Ivan stood in the stands, in front of the announcer's booth, smiling widely.

"U-uh, thanks, buddy," Matthew mumbled, quickly shoving his skates in his bag and standing. "I'll just be out of your way in a min-"

"You are Matthew?" The Russian boy asked in his cool voice, continuing his extremely intense eye-contact.

"I-…you know my name?" Matthew asked, feeling his cheeks blush furiously. He tried to shake his sweat-matted blonde hair over them.

Ivan laughed. "Of course. You beat me once," he replied. His tone was friendly, but Matthew sensed something slightly resentful in his pale violet eyes.

"O-oh yeah! But it was really close, ya know," Matthew replied, feeling slightly queasy. Ivan was the scariest student in school, and here he was having a conversation with Matthew, the invisible man - whom no one would miss if he happened to disappear from, say, a deserted ice rink.

Ivan continued to smile. "You liked my hockey idea."

"Yeah, well…yeah…"

"When Yao left the council, I thought no one would like my ideas," Ivan said slowly. The look of resent had left his eyes and was replaced with a certain amount of, what Matthew could only describe as, kindness.

Matthew paused, feeling his stomach settle and some of his nerves ease. Could this boy want to be friends? He certainly hadn't ruthlessly attacked him yet, and he didn't seem to be building up to it. In fact, the longer the two boys stood there, the harder it became for Matthew to understand why Alfred was so afraid of Ivan.

"Well, it was a good idea," he finally replied shyly.

"We should be on a team."

Matthew froze. Had he heard right? Someone was asking him to be on a team? Not because Alfred had made them, not because he might be able to convince Alfred to join, not because they thought he _was_ Alfred, but because he was Matthew - Matthew who was good at hockey.

"We will talk another day, Matthew," Ivan assured him as he disappeared into the change rooms, interrupting his epiphany and leaving Matthew alone once more, though, a little less lonely.

* * *

"He said what?!" Alfred yelled, spraying the Coke he was drinking all over Matthew.

"You got pop in my poutine," Matthew said in a voice which was intended to sound angry, but came across simply as disappointed.

"First off, it's called soda. Say soda, dude. And second off you can't be running off talking to Ivan, bro! He will destroy you!"

"I didn't 'run off' and talk to anyone," Matthew replied defensively. "I was practicing and he saw me. What was I supposed to do?"

"Hit him! Hit him with your hockey stick! Hard!"

Matthew rolled his eyes, looking down at the table.

"What were you even doing practicing without me?" Alfred asked through a mouthful of half chewed burger.

"Why wouldn't I?"

"We're a team, Matty. That's what "brothers" means," Alfred said in a strangely serious voice.

Matthew looked up at him. He couldn't tell if Alfred was really scared for his safety, or just jealous that he had been asked to join Ivan's team and Alfred hadn't. Based on everything he knew about his brother, he decided the ladder was more likely.

"I thought you were on a team with Taaa-lia," Matthew grinned, choosing to change the subject, in an attempt to avoid confrontation.

Alfred's grin returned. "Well, she is a lot better at defense than you are, Broha," Alfred laughed, while stealing one of Matthew's gravy covered fries.

Matthew moved his fries slightly to the right but grinned. Even though he was cocky and selfish, Alfred still knew how to make him smile. Alfred was the only person Matthew could truly be calm around, and he never, **ever** treated him like he was invisible. So maybe practice wasn't _so_ decidedly his favourite part of the day…

As Matthew got up to leave, Alfred grabbed his shoulder.

"We're a team right, dude?" Alfred asked. His voice was light, but Matthew knew him well enough to know it was a serious question. He looked back at his big brother and knew what his answer to Ivan would be. New friend of no new friend, Alfred was his brother.

"Yeah, Al. We're a team."


End file.
